He inhaled, his eyes fluttering shut for just a moment. Firm muscles rippled beneath her fingers. His gaze fixated on her lips. She leaned in until they were less than an inch apart.
“Touch me,” she breathed.
The groan that rumbled his chest was half pain, half need. Her hand ran up to his shoulder, her claw brushing his neck. “Why won't you touch me, Castien?”
His words were a tortured sigh, “I can't.”
“Yes, you can. You won't hurt me.”
The sharp edges of her claws grazed his cheek. She spread her fingers over his lower back, humming appreciatively at the large bulge pressed against her stomach. He clearly wanted her; he just wasn't doing anything about it.
“Anais…”
“Please. How are you supposed to give me a massage without touching me? I've missed you. I need–”
“Stop,” he breathed.
Her fingers instantly stilled, and she pulled away. His eyes were closed. He was breathing hard.
She stepped back. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't have pushed.”
His eyes snapped open. “Don't be sorry. Never apologize for touching me. For wanting me.” A small, teasing smile flirted with his lips. “It's a compliment for a courtesan.”
“You're not just a courtesan. You–” She frowned. “Will you trust yourself if the cure breaks Zara's trance?”
His lips curved beautifully, but his eyes were sad. “It’s not that simple. They did something more to me. You know that.”
She sighed. “I know that I trust you. I just wish you would do the same.”
She paused.
“I have an idea.”
It was a terrible idea.
The worst, and Castien made it no better.
They dried off and moved to her bedroom. He had gone in first to douse all the candles. She didn't need light to find her own bed.
A bed where a naked god lay spread out all for her.
If only she could see him.
Castien had insisted on darkness when he had reluctantly agreed to try her infuriatingly fantastic yet horrible idea. He didn't trust himself to touch her, but he trusted her without question. So she wouldn't get his hands on her. She wouldn't even get to see him.
But at least he was finally, gloriously naked.
Sitting astride his hips, she tightened a leather strap on his left wrist and leaned back. “There. That should hold you.”
He yanked at his arms and kicked his legs. After a few vigorous tugs, he relaxed. “I suppose so. It's still a bad idea.”
The worst.
Her claws scratched his inner arm. “What could you possibly do? Bite me?”
“If the knots aren't secure…”
“Ah, now he's questioning my ability to tie knots. Should I be offended?”
